Here’s something that happens once in a blue moon in our fair Northwest: a chance to see an opera by an iconic contemporary composer in a production being recorded for said composer’s own label. The icon in question is Philip Glass, whose 2001 chamber opera Galileo Galilei just opened in a brand-new staging by Portland Opera that also represents the work’s west coast premiere.
Though Galileo confounds expectations in its relatively lightweight approach to the fraught topic of science and religion, the production offers an engaging and often refreshingly poetic entrée into Glass’s special brand of music theater.
Presented as the main annual production showcasing the company’s emerging artists, this actually marks Portland Opera’s second outing with a Philip Glass opera. When PO presented Orphée in 2009 (part of Glass’s “Cocteau trilogy,” in a production imported from Glimmerglass Opera), it inspired hands-on involvement from the composer. The result was memorialized in the company’s first-ever
commercial recording, which earned a rave in the New York Times and filled a gap in the vast Glass discography. Similarly, the Galileo release to be edited from PO’s live performances will be the first recording of that opera.
Glass wasn’t able to participate personally this time around. His calendar for 2012 is brimming over with landmark productions and new commissions for the untiring composer, who just turned 75. On opening night, Glass was busy attending the world premiere of his latest work, a cello concerto, given by the Cincinnati Symphony.
Still, Portland’s Galileo for the most part feels at home with the unique musical-theatrical idiom Glass has evolved in his long list of works for stage and screen. (The “film-opera” Orphée straddles both.) At first glance it calls to mind another subgenre he’s known for: the abstract “portrait opera” represented by Einstein on the Beach or the Gandhi-inspired Satyagraha. But Galileo is a modest chamber opera, a study in miniatures completely different in its approach to theatrical time from the marathon proportions of those early works. The entire score lasts about 90 minutes without intermission and calls for nine singers who assume multiple roles, along with a 15-piece chamber orchestra.
Glass has always been a collaborative creator. That applies to his innovative partnerships with artists in other disciplines and to his attitude vis-à-vis the singers and players who perform his scores. The feedback between his music and the other elements of his operas really needs to be experienced in live performance.
For Galileo’s libretto he enlisted director and playwright Mary Zimmerman, who’s especially well-known for her theatrical adaptations of classic mythic stories. She also directed the opera’s premiere at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago in 2002. Zimmerman’s libretto (in English, performed with projected titles) incorporates historical documents from the scientist’s notorious trial for heresy, letters from his daughter, and even reenactments of a few of his famous experiments in motion and velocity to craft a dramatic arc that works chronologically backward.
Tracing out ten representative episodes of his life, the opera begins with the bitterly disappointed, blind old man under house arrest in his final year (1642) but then recedes through time until we encounter Galileo as a boy watching an opera. As synchronicity would have it, that recently born genre had been pioneered by his father, Vincenzo Galileo — himself a monumental figure in Renaissance music.
“Galileo is the personage who has accompanied me in one way or another all my life,” Glass has said. “I have always been impressed by the fact that Galileo concluded his earthly existence as a blind man. Undoubtedly, this led him repeatedly to relive all the stages of his life in his imagination.”
As a theatrical strategy, this reversal of time’s arrow yields some very curious results. The emotional character of Glass’s score becomes progressively more buoyant and cheerful as the opera continues. All the heaviness and pessimism of Galileo’s trial, of freedom of inquiry being suppressed by the Church and of the scientist selling out — the slant of Brecht’s influential dramatization — morph into a prelude to a story of unbounded, joy-filled wonder at the nature of the universe.
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